Page 80 of Shattered Oath
"He was wrong."
"I know. But knowing doesn't make it stop hurting." I looked at him across the candlelight. "He died before I could prove him wrong. Before I could show him what I built. Sometimes I thinkthat's worse than if he'd lived and kept dismissing me. At least then I'd have a chance to change his mind, to make him see me."
Matteo reached across the table and took my hand in both of his, warm and grounding.
"He would be proud,Bella," he said. "If he could see you now, with everything you've accomplished, I’m sure he would be. Any father would be proud of a daughter like you."
"You don't know that."
"I do." His thumb brushed my knuckles. "Because I see you,Bella. I see what you've built with your own hands and vision. The talent, the drive, the way you refuse to be small for anyone." His voice dropped. "You're extraordinary. And anyone who couldn't see that was blind."
My throat tightened. I blinked against the sting in my eyes.
"We're quite a pair," I managed, my voice rough. "Two people still trying to prove themselves to ghosts."
"Maybe." He lifted my hand, pressed a kiss to my fingers. "Or maybe we can be witnesses for each other instead. See what they couldn't. Believe what they wouldn't."
I looked at him across the candlelit table, this man who understood in a way no one else ever had. Who had fought his own battles against doubt and dismissal. Who had rebuilt something beautiful from the ruins of someone else's failure to believe.
Could he fit into my life?
The thought rose unbidden. My world was my fashion boutiques in London and Milan, my family in New York, the fashion weeks all over the world. His was Tuscan hillsides and ancient vines and quiet villages where restaurants had no signs.
But sitting here, my hand in his, the stars emerging overhead—none of that seemed to matter.
What mattered was this. The ease between us, the way he listened, and the way he saw me.
Maybe that was enough.
The driver brought us back to Matteo’s vineyard.
The night air was warm, heavy with the smell of earth and growing things. Matteo led me through the main house and out onto the terrace, where the valley spread below us, silver in the moonlight.
"It's beautiful," I said.
"It is." But he was looking at me, not the view of the landscape.
We stood there for a moment, shoulder to shoulder, the silence comfortable between us.
Then I felt it. A drop of water on my cheek, cool against warm skin.
Then another.
The rain came suddenly, the way it had that first night I'd stayed here—fat drops that splattered against the stone terrace, soaking through my dress in seconds.
I laughed, turning my face up to the sky, feeling alive.
"We should go inside," Matteo said, but he wasn't moving.
"Should we?"
He was watching me with that look, the one that made my breath catch and my heart stutter. His white shirt was already clinging to his chest, translucent with rain, revealing the tattoo beneath. Water ran down his face, dripped from his strong jaw.
"Bella."His voice was rough. "Won't you let me kiss you in the rain?"
I didn't answer with words.
I grabbed the front of his soaked shirt and pulled him to me.
